Page 41 of My Queendom for a Horse

Luckily, it’s pretty easy to change him back into a horse. Although, now that he has clothing that fits, he insists on removing it before we shift him, and I’m really starting to feel uneasy about all the nudity. If he were old and hunchbacked, or if he just wasn’t quite so. . .delicious. . .I might not feel so strange about it. But a weird kind of naughty-giddy thrill runs up my body every time I think about it, and when he starts to strip, it’s like my entire mind goes blank.

I don’t want to avert my eyes, which is how I know I need to, obviously. But once he’s standing in front of me, a few simple words and voilà. He’s equine again.

And that’s when I realize how strange it is to halter someone I know isn’t a horse. He stands there, patiently, not even so much as twitching while I halter him, but I’m very aware he’s not an animal.

Sneaking him back into the barn while everyone else is searching in the woods is a little harder than the shift—he is ginormous and black, after all. Eventually we manage, but by then, I’m plenty annoyed.

“I told you that you couldn’t stay in my room all night, searching things on the web.” I swat Obsidian on his rump without thinking. . .and then realize that I probably shouldn’t be doing that kind of thing anymore.

It definitely feels weird.

My cheeks heat up.

“Sorry,” I mumble lamely. “But look, you need to listen to me, or people are going to find out, and then it’s pitchforks and torches, alright? It may have always been something you could do, but in the present day, people do not change into horses. Ever. Got it?”

He tilts his huge, gorgeous head, as if to accuse me—he did turn into a man because I’d been lamenting that horses couldn’t be men, after all. But I meant it hypothetically. “If you can’t follow my rules, we won’t have time for you to learn about the present. Got it?”

He tosses his head.

“I know you’re a prince lord duke or whatever, but here, you’re just a horse.”

He snorts.

“And more importantly, if you want to walk on two legs again any time soon, you better make me believe you’re going to listen to me.”

He glares at me momentarily, which is a little disconcerting. I’ve never seen a horse actually glare in my entire life—side eye? Sure. Irritation? Definitely. But actually glaring, with flared nostrils and a narrowed eye?

Although now that I think about it. . .

Didn’t he do that before I bought him? How did I ever think he was a real horse? He’s been bizarre from the start.

“How about this?”

His nostrils flare, but he’s listening.

“You stay in equine form all day, and let everyone see me working with you. Then I’ll tell them that Aleksandr has a unique training method. It’s proprietary and requires total privacy. I’ll come change you in the evening, and you can spend your nights doing research. I’ll let you borrow my phone to boost the internet out here.” Now I’m just talking to myself, really.

He has no idea what most of that means, but he’ll pick it up fast, if the speed with which he was pecking at the keys on my laptop earlier is any indication.

He inhales deeply, and then bobs his head.

“Great. So I’ll duck out for now, but I’ll be back later.”

He doesn’t look or sound very pleased.

“Pawing at the stall floor is bad manners, Obsidian.” He doesn’t stop. But he doesn’t start screaming or trying to undo the latch either.

As I walk back to the house, I think about how boring it would be to be stuck as a horse all day long, just standing around. Maybe I can get him a television out here or something. I wonder if I could extend the WiFi with a booster. . .

The major flaw in my plan doesn’t hit me until the next day.

If I don’t want to sit beside him while he’s searching, and I’m certainly not doing that all night, I have to leave my phone out here. With him.

I’m not the kind of person who can’t be parted from her phone, but I’m not exactly keen to allow him to be the first person to receive all my texts and calls, either. He’s figuring things out alarmingly quickly, and the last thing I need is to have him answering my calls when Sean rings, and telling him who knows what.

Just having a man answer my phone would be problematic enough, but having Aleks answer? After that miserable lunch fiasco? Hard pass.

“You have a message,” he says. He sounds so nonchalant, I should have known.

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